


i don’t wanna be your friend (i wanna kiss your lips)

by someoneyouloved



Series: jiara july 2020 [5]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1 Day, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jiara July, Kiara Has Feelings For JJ (Outer Banks), Romance, also mentions of self-harm/suicidal thoughts if you squint, because we needed some pining kiara in this fandom, i couldn’t NOT post this fic, it’s basically 12K+ words of kiara being an absolute idiot in love when it comes to jj, it’s one big angsty/fluffy mess hope y’all enjoy, just putting that out there, making good use of that tag, this is late as hell but it’s okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoneyouloved/pseuds/someoneyouloved
Summary: If she’s being honest, Kiara used to think about kissing JJ all the time.It’s like a fantasy, something she imagines in those few hazy seconds before she falls asleep at night— JJ’s lips against hers, her fingers in his hair, that familiar scent of sunscreen and salt invading her senses.But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just that: a fantasy. It’s not like it’s ever going to happen in real life.Or at least that’s what she thought.—aka the five times kiara thinks about kissing jj, and the one time she finally does it.
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Series: jiara july 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849102
Comments: 16
Kudos: 148
Collections: Jiara July Jubilee





	i don’t wanna be your friend (i wanna kiss your lips)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this was supposed to be my 5+1 / firsts fic for jiara july, and i know it’s SUPER late, but shit kind of hit the fan in my personal life midway through the week, so now we’re here lol. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic that’s literally just 12K+ words of kiara being a basic bitch like all of us and pining over jj. tbh it feels a little ooc to me, but i think that’s just because we don’t get much insight into her feelings towards the boys. don’t forget to leave kudos/comments if you enjoy, and pls lmk what you think!
> 
> also i have another jiara fic that was supposed to be for genre day about jj and his mom (it’s literally the most angsty thing i’ve ever written and that’s saying something), so hopefully that will be up soon! i’ll also be updating my celebrity and PJO AU’s, so look out for those! 
> 
> trigger warnings: mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, canonical physical abuse

If she’s being honest, Kiara used to think about kissing JJ all the time. 

It’s like a fantasy, something she imagines in those few hazy seconds before she falls asleep at night— JJ’s lips against hers, her fingers in his hair, that familiar scent of sunscreen and salt invading her senses.

It’s just... he’s one of her best friends, and she sometimes gets this funny feeling in her chest when he laughs at her jokes or tugs her into his side when they’re lying in the hammock at the Chateau. And _yes_ , okay, she might have a thing for blondes.

But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just that: a fantasy. It’s not like it’s ever going to happen in real life.

Or at least that’s what she thought. 

✘✘✘

_one._

There are countless situations where Kiara almost kisses JJ but doesn’t, but there are five times where she gets especially (read: dangerously) close. 

The first time is during the summer before high school, the same night she has her very first sip of beer.

They’re at the Boneyard, drinking from a keg purchased by someone whose name she can’t remember, and one sip quickly turns into three, and before she knows it she’s five beers in and swaying on her feet. 

Kiara learns three very important lessons that night.

One: she’s a lightweight. It’s not her fault, but she’s smaller than the boys and definitely doesn’t have JJ’s tolerance for illicit substances, so after a few rounds from the keg and the intense game of beer pong she played with John B, Kiara is officially wasted.

Two: she’s a _touchy_ drunk. It’s weird, because physical contact can make her feel claustrophobic sometimes, but that all changes once the alcohol is in her system. It’s her resting her head on Pope’s shoulder at the bonfire, clinging to John B during beer pong, plus the other strangers she may or may not affectionately strangle over the course of the evening. 

Three: JJ Maybank is now much prettier and far more kissable than when Kiara was sober, and she’s not quite sure what to do with that.

He’s the life of the party, like always, telling some story that has Tourons and Kooks alike hanging onto his every word. Normally, Kiara would roll her eyes and leave him to it, maybe intercept with a particularly embarrassing JJ story to try and ruin his hookup potential for the evening if he’d been pissing her off. 

It’s not because watching him kiss the girls he brings back to the Chateau makes her heart clench, or because she doesn’t want to listen to their moans through the walls while she’s recovering from what’s sure to be a killer hangover. Definitely not.

Afterward, she’s not exactly sure _why_ she does it (refer to the lessons learned above, perhaps), but she stumbles over to JJ and wraps her arms around his waist, tucks herself into his side.

If Kiara was more aware, she might notice that JJ hesitates before pulling her close, or how the girls he was talking to shoot her dirty looks.

He just mutters an apology (though he doesn’t sound very sorry) before looking down at her. “Well, hello to you, too. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Kiara hums into the fabric of his t-shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of saltwater and the cheap laundry detergent they use at the Chateau, now tainted with beer and the mango-scented vape from his Juul. “I’m drunk. You smell nice.”

“Lightweight,” JJ murmurs into the top of her head, but his voice is fond. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Uh... five?” She guesses, pressing her chin to JJ’s chest and gazing up at him. The girls have all left by now, but Kiara can’t bring herself to care. “Seven? I’m not sure. But I killed at beer pong, you know? You’d be proud of me.”

“I’m sure you did,” he chuckles, and Kiara wants to ask him what‘s so funny, but everything is spinning except for JJ so she just closes her eyes and buries her head in his chest. “I think it’s time we cut you off, Carrera.”

“Okay,” she agrees, too tired to argue. “I’m tired, J.”

She’s never called him that before, but JJ doesn’t seem to mind because he squeezes Kiara’s shoulder a little tighter. “You wanna go home?”

She nods into his chest, eyes still closed, and he leads her back to the van, finds John B first to grab the keys and tell him he’s taking Kiara home. Her hand doesn’t leave JJ’s the entire time, but if John B thinks anything of it, he doesn’t mention it.

It’s not until they’re pulling into the driveway at the Chateau that Kiara realizes when JJ said the word _home_ , she automatically thought of here. 

She loves that— that she finally has a place where she belongs, somewhere her parents and the Kooks can’t reach her.

It would certainly be embarrassing if she was sober, but Kiara kind of refuses to move until JJ drags her out of the van and carries her inside. He sets her on the pullout couch with a surprising amount of gentleness, and he might even tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, but Kiara can’t be sure because her eyes are closed and everything’s fading in and out of focus. 

He returns a few moments later with a glass of water, a pair of John B’s sweatpants, and a t-shirt that’s definitely his, turns around and covers his eyes when Kiara starts stripping right in front of him.

It’s another thing she’ll be mortified about in the morning once the alcohol wears off, but she doesn’t really care in the moment, secretly wouldn’t mind if he turned around and snuck a peek. The diehard feminist in Kiara is screaming, but that little voice in the back of her head is a lot quieter with the beer clouding her thoughts.

JJ’s much nicer than she’d thought he’d be— she’d expected to be dumped on the couch and for him to tease her about not being able to hold her liquor, not a cold bottle of water or the concerned looks he keeps sending her way. 

And they’re so close on the pullout, and JJ’s eyes are sparkling in the dim lighting of the Chateau, so Kiara can’t really be blamed for what happens next.

She leans in so that their lips are almost touching, JJ’s breath hot against her cheek as she inhales that familiar scent of weed and sand and cheap cologne. It shouldn’t be pleasant, but it’s honestly kind of soothing, and Kiara closes her eyes as she tilts her head closer.

But then JJ’s warmth disappears, and she opens her eyes to find him standing halfway across the room, hands raised in panicked surrender. “Woah, Kie, you’re drunk. You don’t want to do this, trust me.” 

And Kiara wants to argue, to tell JJ that this is what she wants with or without the alcohol in her system, but then her vision blurs and the entire room lists to right, and she realizes he might have a point— she’s drunk.

To be honest, that’s probably a good thing, because Kiara’s so far gone at that point that she barely registers the sharp sting of JJ’s rejection. 

She wants to say something, make an excuse so that things aren’t awkward between them, but then her throat starts to burn and she claps a hand over her mouth. 

JJ realizes what’s happening immediately, grabs a trash can and sets it on the ground at her feet, sits back on the pullout beside Kiara while she retches into the bin— rubs soothing circles into her shoulder and holds her hair back. 

When she’s done, Kiara is so exhausted that she forgets she’d tried to kiss JJ in the first place, so she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, doesn’t bother opening them as he guides her down onto the bed and lays a blanket over her.

And if Kiara thinks about their almost kiss before she falls asleep, no one has to know but her.

✘✘✘

_two._

The next time that Kiara almost kisses JJ, it’s not even her fault.

It’s John B’s.

Okay, maybe it’s _kind_ of her fault, because she let it slip while she was high on JJ’s cousin Cripple’s weed that sometimes she thought about kissing him, and John B had apparently decided that the situation required some friendly meddling. 

It had happened weeks ago, and Kiara had already make him promise not to tell JJ when she’d sobered up the following morning, had gone so far as threatening to shave his head in his sleep if he broke his word.

John B had agreed pretty quickly after that, so she’d thought she was in the clear, but then they’re having a party at the Chateau one night while Big John is out of town and he says, “Guys, I have an idea! We should play spin the bottle.”

“No,” Kiara responds without thinking, because she knows exactly where _this_ is going. “What are we, John B? Twelve?”

“Oh, come on, Kie,” he pouts, though she knows it’s all just an act. “I’m sure you’ll love it. Won’t she, JJ?”

John B is definitely fighting dirty, because Kiara almost jumps out of her skin when JJ wraps an arm around her shoulders and whispers in her ear, “Cmon, Kie, do it for the hot Tourons.”

She’s not sure if he means for the Tourons to be macking on him or her, but at that point a whole crowd of people have formed a circle in the living room and it’s too late to argue. 

Kiara sends what she hopes is a terrifying death glare John B’s way, but he just grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows, and she decides that she misses the days when the boys were all scared of her. John B never would have pulled this kind of shit a few years ago, but now he’s apparently lost all sense of boundaries.

She knows it’s past the point of no return when JJ grabs the half-drained bottle of vodka they’d raided from Big John’s liquor cabinet and chugs the last few mouthfuls before slamming it down onto the floor, the action followed by a chorus of drunken cheers and hollers.

There’s a Touron with strawberry-blonde hair and a piece of clothing that Kiara’s not sure can even be classified as a shirt who watches this all go down, her gaze not leaving JJ as he wipes the vodka from his mouth and flicks it in John B’s direction. 

Then, she not-so-sublety bites her lips while eyeing the bare skin and toned abs exposed by his grey cut-off, and Kiara knows it’s completely irrational, but she gets this strange prickling sensation in her gut and without thinking, grabs the neck of the bottle before the girl can reach for it.

“I’ll go first,” she says, ignoring John B’s knowing smirk as she flicks her wrist and spins the bottle.

The thing is, if her life was a movie, the bottle would point directly at JJ. 

But it isn’t, so it ends on a Touron with curly brown hair and an easy smile that Kiara had handed a beer to at the keg earlier, so she leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his lips. 

It’s barely anything— Kiara not sure she would even count it as a real kiss— even though everyone in the circle cheers. 

The bottle is passed around for a while after that— Pope awkwardly kisses a girl with sun-bleached blonde hair and rosy cheeks, and he goes bright red when JJ claps a hand on his shoulder and informs him that it was honestly painful to watch. 

And Kiara is definitely a little buzzed, so after a few rounds she lets her guard down, laughs and hollers with the rest of them when John B spins the bottle and it points to the same guy she’d kissed. 

Then it’s JJ’s turn, and that girl hasn’t stopped staring at him the entire time, so Kiara prepares herself for the worst and tries to ignore the pit in her stomach.

Honestly, it shouldn’t even bother her— she’s watched JJ flirt with and mack on dozens of girls, has lost track of the amount of times she’s fallen asleep on the pullout couch at the Chateau while he hooked up with one of them in the spare bedroom.

Hell, she’s _helped_ JJ land girls before, laughed at his jokes and danced with him at the Boneyard until one of them got jealous enough to follow him back to the Chateau. So, why is it any different this time?

Maybe it’s because John B knows a little more than he should now, and it was a lot easier to pretend she didn’t give a shit when no one knew she was lying. 

But apparently Kiara underestimated John B’s desire to make her life hell, because as soon as JJ spins the bottle, he yells that some kid is gonna jump off the dock butt-ass naked— _seriously_ , this is why Kiara never asks him to lie for her— but it works because everyone in the circle turns to look, including JJ, and Kiara is the only one who notices John B nudging the bottle in her direction.

“Oops, my bad,” he says, and there’s a chorus of groans when everyone realizes he was wrong, but Kiara stays quiet. 

Because JJ is one of the last people to turn around, and even then it takes him a second to realize who the bottle is pointing at.

It’s like Kiara’s brain has short-circuited, and all it’s able to process is her own pounding heart and John B’s smug smile and JJ’s dumbstruck expression.

His eyes flick towards her, the blue even more vibrant than usual somehow, like the crest of a wave when you’re in the middle of the barrel and the sun is shining through the water, and Kiara tries to pretend that she’s not totally loosing her shit as JJ raises his eyebrows at her, silently asking if this is okay.

Kiara may nod a little too quickly, but it doesn’t matter, because then JJ’s leaning across the circle towards her, the smell of vodka sharp on his breath, and she closes her eyes as his lips move to brush against hers, a hand reaching out to cup her cheek—

Then, before Kiara can say _fuck it_ and press her lips to his, there’s the sound of glass shattering and she flinches, jerking away from JJ as she turns her head towards the sound and finds Pope, holding the neck of the broken vodka bottle with a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face. 

And just like that, it’s over, because JJ’s laughing at Pope’s clumsiness and leaning back into his own space. He’s not looking at Kiara, though, and she thinks it’s on purpose.

Because her cheek is still burning where he’d touched her, and she can’t help but think of what could have happened if Pope hadn’t broken that damn bottle. 

It’s probably a good thing, she tells herself, that they got interrupted.

No, scratch that, it’s _definitely_ a good thing, because her friendship with the Pogues is too important to risk on an awkward, drunken kiss during spin the bottle. 

And that’s all it would have been, so it doesn’t matter anyway. 

✘✘✘

_three._

It turns out that Kiara’s loyalty to the Pogues, the same loyalty that had kept her from kissing JJ, evaporates into thin air the second Sarah Cameron smiles at her. 

It’s not her fault, _really_ it’s not.

Actually, it _is_ all her fault this time, because she allowed herself to get wrapped up in a world where Sarah Cameron let’s her grind on her at parties and sleep in the same bed as her, and Kiara knows it’s wrong to use her to help her get over this _thing_ she has with JJ, but it’s the first time in months where he’s not the only person she’s thinking about kissing.

But then she fucks it up, like she always does, and it doesn’t even take a kiss to do it.

Honestly, Kiara has no idea what she did to make Sarah hate her so much, because one day they’re stealing beers from her dad’s fridge and getting drunk by the Cameron’s pool, her head on Sarah’s shoulder and the girl’s fingers in Kiara’s hair, and then the following night she’s sitting in her bedroom all alone, crying over a series of Instagrams stories and posts as she realizes that her supposed best friend invited _everyone_ to her birthday party except her.

Calling the cops is an impulse decision, and it’s almost too easy to imitate the airy, haughty voice her mother uses when she’s talking to her friends from the Island Club on the phone as she complains about the _disturbance_ at Tannyhill, the lack of parental supervision and underage kids drinking alcohol and doing lines of coke. 

But when she hangs up the phone, she doesn’t feel any better. 

Kiara knows that she deserves it, deserves the heavy ache in her chest and the feeling that her heart is breaking in two, especially after she’d abandoned the Pogues without so much as an explanation.

The thing is, thinking about them— John B and Pope and JJ— makes everything worse, and then she just needs it all to _stop_.

So, Kiara takes the old shoebox out from underneath her bed, breaths a shaky sigh of relief when she finds the bag of weed and thanks God that her parents aren’t home.

She’d bought it for her and Sarah from some dealer on the Cut that JJ had introduced her to, but it’s not like her best friend’s going to need it now.

She doesn’t need anything, apparently. Including Kiara.

It’s all just too much, and she knows that she should work through her emotions instead of avoiding them, but then Kiara remembers the sound of Sarah’s laughter as she blew out her birthday candles, and she’s instantly searching for a lighter. 

The pain in her chest starts to fade after the first hit, her limbs loosening and vision blurring in a familiar, pleasant way, and there’s a moment where she forgets Sarah Cameron and her stupid, perfect face all together. 

But the little voice that usually tells her to stop doesn’t pipe up, and the four joints are gone before she knows it. 

And Kiara’s tolerance is high but it’s not _that_ high, so soon enough she’s curled up in a ball on her bed, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

She had a bad trip once before— back in middle school, when John B and JJ had tried making edibles and _seriously_ messed up the proportions.

Kiara had learned two things that night: don’t fuck with edibles, and to _never_ let the boys cook for her again. 

But she remembers something else, too— how when she’d started flipping out and had hidden under the kitchen table to stop the monsters in her head from getting her, JJ had crawled in with her and held her hand until she stopped crying, hadn’t left her side all night, even after John B went to sleep. 

It’s stupid, and also a really shitty thing to do considering everything that’s happened, but Kiara just needs to feel like everything’s going to be okay, so she grabs her phone and locates JJ’s contact— still in the number one spot like always, because John B never answers his phone and Pope tends to panic in a crisis.

Sarah’s contact is in the fourth spot, a yellow heart next to her name. She’s not sure if deleting it would make her feel better or worse, so she calls JJ instead. 

It rings once, twice, three times. For one long, awful moment, Kiara thinks he’s not going to pick up— not that she’d blame him. 

But then the dial tone cuts off, and JJ’s voice filters out through the speaker, the greeting crass enough to feel sinful in the quiet, still air of her bedroom. 

“What the fuck do you want?”

The open hostility in his voice catches her off guard at first, because everything’s hazy and it feels like the ground’s about to fall in beneath Kiara’s feet, but then she remembers that JJ doesn’t like her all that much right now.

She doesn’t realize she still hasn’t said anything until JJ says, “If you don’t answer in the next five seconds I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait, JJ—” she breaks off, stumbling over her own words, trying to form a coherent argument about why he should drop everything to help his back-stabbing bitch of a friend. Ex-friend? God, her head hurts. “I’m really fucking high right now.”

It’s clearly not the right thing to say, because JJ just laughs, short and harsh and a little too forced for her to believe he finds it genuinely funny. “Sorry, but if this is a booty call—”

His terrible attempt at an innuendo doesn’t even register, that’s how fucked she is. “No, like I’m really fucking high right now and I’m scared.”

That, at least, seems to catch his attention. “Like how high?”

Kiara hesitates, aware that JJ’s about to be pissed as hell. “Four.”

“Drags?”

“Joints.”

“Fuck, Kiara—”

“I know, I know, okay?” She whimpers, her earlier panic rushing back at the anxious edge to JJ’s voice. “Can you please just come over?”

It’s quiet on the other side of the phone, and she can tell that he’s considering saying no. A few months ago, JJ would probably already be pulling into her driveway on his bike, but... it would probably hurt a lot more if she was sober— the fact that he doesn’t want to be around her anymore, that it takes a situation like this to even get him to pick up the phone.

“Can’t one of your Kook friends handle this? Or are they even higher than you?”

“No, I’m— I’m alone,” she admits, cringing at the low exhale that comes from JJ’s side of the phone. He’s probably pissed about that too. “I’m at my house— my parents aren’t home.”

“Fine,” he sighs, sounding resigned. “I’m coming over— just hold it together till then, okay? Put on that playlist or something.”

She knows the one he’s talking about— they’d made it the summer before freshmen year, crossfaded on his cousin’s weed and cheap beer at the Chateau.

“Okay,” she whispers, closing her eyes and focusing on the familiar sound and inflections of JJ’s voice to distract herself from how hard her heart is pounding. “You are coming, though, right? Because I know I’ve been a shitty friend lately, so I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter— I’m coming, okay, Kie? I’ll be there in five.”

Kiara sighs in relief, tries to pretend that the sound of her old nickname on JJ’s lips doesn’t make her heart clench.

“Okay. Key’s under the doormat—”

“I know where it is.”

—

By the time JJ arrives, Kiara has decided that she’s never, ever doing weed again.

She’s pretty sure it’s how she greets him— with that proclamation, whispered into the quiet of her bedroom after the door creaks open and she’s determined he’s not a psychopath coming to kill her.

But it’s just JJ, wearing his usual outfit of frayed board shorts and a Kildare Island t-shirt with the sleeves cut-off, his red baseball hat on backwards. He looks almost the same as the last time Kiara saw him up close, screaming at her in the driveway at the Chateau, except his edges are a little sharper— harder. 

“Well, let’s not say things we don’t mean,” he quips in reference to her comment about the weed, but his voice wavers, and she can tell that he’s just cracking a joke to try and make the situation less awkward.

Kiara doesn’t fire back a retort, and the strained grin falls from JJ’s face. “Kiara? You good?”

She shakes her head, because even though the high has started to fade, she’s definitely not _good_. The buzz is mostly gone from her bones, but her stomach feels hollow and her thoughts won’t settle down— even shaking her head takes more effort than usual.

JJ edges forward, his movements far more hesitant than they used to be around her, and he ends up kneeling on the ground at Kiara’s feet. He sets his hand on her thigh, and she lets the touch ground her. 

“So, what’s up?”

It’s a totally idiotic way to ask if she’s okay, but she gets what he means. “I don’t know, but the room’s spinning and I feel all floaty and I just... I don’t like it, okay? Can you make it stop?”

The corners of JJ’s mouth twitch, and in the back of her mind she understands how stupid the request sounds, but his voice is soft, brimming with concern. “Okay, it’s gonna be okay... why don’t you lie down and close your eyes?“

Kiara obeys, leans her head back against the pillows and shuts her eyes, but then she hears the floorboards creak and an alarming thought pops into her head. “Wait, where are you going?”

It should be more embarrassing, maybe, the spike of panic she feels at the idea of JJ leaving, but she really doesn’t want to be alone right now. 

“To get you some water— I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing Kiara’s phone off the nightstand and typing in her password, the familiarity of the action almost painful, the opening notes of one of the songs on their playlist pouring out of the speakers after a few taps.

Kiara closes her eyes, listens to the distant sounds of JJ fumbling around in the bathroom, taps her fingers to the beat of the music and tries to ignore the pounding in her head, how her feet still don’t feel entirely attached to her body. 

When she opens them, JJ’s standing there with a glass of water, murmuring her name. She sits up and takes it from him, tries not to feel self-conscious as he watches her drink small sips.

It’s enough to make her hands start shaking again, though Kiara’s not sure if it’s because of the weed or JJ’s unwavering attention, but he must notice, because then the glass is being eased from her grasp and JJ’s hand slides into hers, his calluses rough against her skin.

It’s almost like he knows, remembers how much his touch had calmed her the last time, but Kiara doesn’t want to call attention to it and make him pull away— she really, _really_ doesn’t want that.

So, she lies back against the headboard and tugs JJ with her. And she must look really pathetic because he doesn’t even protest, just sprawls on the bed beside her, his boots even more rugged-looking than usual against the lilac-purple bedspread her mother had picked out. 

Without thinking, Kiara starts playing with the rings on his fingers— the thick, wood one on his pinky, the flashy, silver one he’d stolen from a pawn shop. It was soothing, and he doesn’t tell her to stop, so she doesn’t.

She twists the one on his left hand off, sees the initials that are carved into the inside of the band— _G.M._ — and lets go immediately, knowing what that means even in her addled state of mind.

But JJ catches her hand, twists the ring off himself and slides it onto her pointer finger. 

“JJ—” Kiara protests, already trying to tug it off, ignoring the warmth that blossomed in her chest at the action. “Isn’t that your mom’s—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs with a shrug, fingertips catching on the metal band. “Doesn’t matter— looks better on you anyway.”

The words shock her into silence, so she takes a minute to clear her head, focuses on the warmth radiating off of JJ and the steady rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder. 

“You feeling okay?”

Kiara just nods, because she’s not quite sure she can trust her own voice right about now. Her thoughts are starting to focus more, and while she’s relieved to be coming down from her high, it also means that she can actually remember how awful she’s been to JJ and the Pogues recently.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, forcing the words out despite her pounding heart and sweaty palms. “I didn’t mean— I’m just sorry, for all of it.”

She thinks that she hears JJ’s breath catch, and her nerves spike when he doesn’t respond right away. Kiara starts to rehearse her second apology in her head, fights through the lingering traces of weed in her system to try and remember all of the ways she’s been a bad friend lately, but JJ beats her to it.

“It’s okay, Kie,” he murmurs, and this time, she really does shiver at the nickname. Sarah called her that, too, but it never felt the same. “You don’t have to apologize. I— we get it.”

It would be easier to just accept that and move on, but there’s still a pit in Kiara’s stomach, and she can’t stop the words from spilling out. “But I left you guys, I _abandoned_ you. I abandoned John B. How could you possibly forgive me for that?”

JJ sighs, shifting beneath her. “I’m not gonna lie and say I wasn’t pissed at first— I mean, we all were, especially John B but... you’re a Pogue, Kie. It’s just that simple.” 

Kiara doesn’t even know how to respond to that, so she just smiles and nestles further into JJ’s side, ignores the voice in the back of her mind that says _this feels different than before,_ passes it off as a side effect of the weed and her emotions being all over the place. 

The urge to kiss him isn’t as sudden as the first time, it’s just _there_ , as if the desire has been buried beneath her skin for months and is finally rising to the surface.

But Kiara ignores that too, because if there’s any chance of things returning to normal with her and the Pogues, she can’t go kissing any of them— ever. 

She won’t allow herself to, because if there’s one thing Sarah Cameron has taught her, it’s that having feelings for your best friend can only end with someone getting hurt.

And Kiara’s not going to let it be her. Not again. 

✘✘✘

_four._

The end of Kiara’s Kook Year is far better than the start of it.

It takes a little while to regain the Pogues trust, but it turns out that JJ was right when he‘d said they couldn’t stay mad at her forever, because soon enough John B’s crying on her shoulder about his dad after a few too many beers at the Boneyard, and she’s the first one Pope calls when he gets the callback for his scholarship interview. 

The months she’d spent getting mani-pedis and sunning herself by the Cameron’s pool with Sarah’s friends have been replaced by surfing at Rixon’s and fishing on the HMS Pogue, sleeping on the pullout couch at the Chateau after a night of smoking and drinking on the docks or partying at the Boneyard.

And Kiara wouldn’t trade it for anything, her friendship with the Pogues that she has miraculously stitched back together. Even if Sarah Cameron herself arrived on her doorstep begging to be her friend again, she wouldn’t risk it, because she honestly doesn’t understand how she’d ever survived without the Pogues in the first place. 

Of course, the problem is that it’s a small island, and news travels fast. So, when Kiara shows up at school the Monday after spring break, every single student at the Kook Academy has heard the rumor that she was the one who called the cops on Sarah’s birthday party. 

It’s Sarah Cameron’s word against hers, so Kiara already knows what side of the story everyone’s going to believe. It’s not even a contest. 

And okay, fine, it’s the _truth_ , so it really shouldn’t matter, but the fact that Sarah didn’t talk to Kiara about it, doesn’t even try to defend her, hurts more than it should. 

She could care less about what the rich kids from Figure Eight think of her, but Sarah was her friend, her _best_ friend, and Kiara doesn’t understand how she can just pretend like nothing happened between them.

But apparently it’s just that easy, because when she approaches Sarah during homeroom, she takes one look at Kiara and says, “What are you looking at, Pogue?”

The insult shouldn’t sting, but it does, because when someone had called Kiara a _dirty Pogue_ and dumped a smoothie on her head only a few months ago, Sarah had found her crying in the bathroom and given her a change of clothes before suggesting they go watch baby sea turtles hatch after school. 

And it’s pathetic, but Kiara remembers how that had literally been one of the best days of her life, so she decides to at least _try_ and fix things. “Listen, Sarah, I just—”

But it doesn’t matter, because then one of her friends is whispering something in Sarah’s ear, and she smirks at Kiara as she says, “Sorry, I don’t talk to snitches. Why don’t you try the Cut instead? I mean, as long as the Pogues don’t mind having a _rat_ for a friend.” 

It’s followed by a chorus of laughter and echoed taunts from the other kids, and then Kiara’s storming out of the classroom, refusing to let Sarah see that she’d gotten to her, even though her hurried exit and flushed cheeks probably tip her off.

The incident is apparently exactly what everyone needed to launch open season on Kiara Carrera, because soon enough even the people who _weren’t_ at the party have made it abundantly clear that they hate her guts. 

And if there’s one thing the kids at the Kook Academy excel at, it’s making someone know when they’re not wanted.

When she was Sarah’s friend, people smiled at her in the hallway, complimented her outfits and begged to be her partner during class. Now, it’s whispered taunts and cruel jokes and making sure whatever table she sits at remains empty until the bell rings. 

But Kiara doesn’t let it get to her, refuses to give Sarah and her friends the satisfaction of knowing they’ve made her life hell, so she holds her head high and bites her tongue for eight straight hours a day, plasters a smile on her face and ignores the constant urge to either scream or punch something.

For the most part, she does her best to hide the truth from the Pogues, because she’s still not sure how strong the bonds are between them, doesn’t want to risk them deciding she’s not worth forgiving by dumping her problems on them. And how can she possibly complain about something as stupid and unimportant as people not liking her at school when Big John is still missing, and JJ barely has enough money to feed himself? 

There are times where it’s harder than usual to pretend like everything’s fine, because the Pogues _know_ her, and they can tell when Kiara’s upset. 

But they seem to understand that she doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead it’s stupid pranks that are designed to make her laugh or letting her pick during movie night at the Chateau, arms around shoulders and a lot of _we’re here if you need us, Kie_ or _tell us who we have to kill, and we’ll do it._

(The latter is definitely all JJ.)

And for a while, it’s enough, the knowledge that she has her boys and they’ve got her back, and Kiara thinks she might be able to survive until summer without any major incidents.

But everything boils over one day when she arrives at school five minutes before the bell rings (because she had spent all night at the Chateau and had to sneak back into the house before her parents got up), her hair still wet from the shower and a half-eaten piece of peanut butter toast wedged between her teeth, struggling to balance an armful of books and open her locker.

The lock clicks, and then Kiara screams.

Because there are four fucking _rats_ in her locker, and not the fake kind JJ had hidden in her bed at the Chateau one time as a prank, but real rats with long tails and beady eyes. 

And Kiara’s an animal lover, she is, but she takes one look at the contents of her locker and stumbles backward, tripping over her own feet. 

It takes a minute to recover from the shock, to register the gathering crowd and quiet, cruel laughter, but then she does and the panic in her chest morphs into hot, bitter anger. 

Because it’s been _months_ of this, and Kiara’s sick if it. There’s a note stuck to the inside of her locker, some snarky line about her being a rat herself, but she doesn’t need to read it to know what prompted _this_ little show. 

There’s a circle of girls at the front of the crowd now surrounding her locker, all with straight, shiny hair and matching headbands, their smartphones pointed directly at Kiara, giggling at the scene through over-glossed lips. Sarah’s friends. 

Kiara knows them of course, had spent the first half of the year swapping secrets and playing truth or dare with them at sleepovers, had stayed silent while she listened to them gossip and spread rumors about whoever they’d decided to hate on that week. 

So, she knows them, and she knows exactly what they’re capable of. Apparently, Sarah’s dig had made more of an impression than Kiara had realized, and this was the result.

A week ago, she would have kept her mouth shut and walked away, reminded that it wouldn’t help if she stuped down to their level.

But she’s so fucking tired of letting people walk all over her, and the months of teasing have definitely taken a toll, because before Kiara can stop herself she’s storming over to the group of cackling girls, her rage hot and heavy in her throat as she tells them to _shut the fuck up._

They stop laughing then, turning towards Kiara with a combination of wide eyes and victorious smirks, like they can’t believe she finally cracked. 

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” she says, forcing a false sense of cheerfulness into her voice. “You really got me. Very clever. Now, are we done?”

The girls just blink at her, like _who, us?_ It’s the typical Kook bullshit, of course, but it infuriates Kiara even more than usual.

“I’m sorry,” says the girl in the front— Gretchen, she thinks— with pin-straight brown hair and rosy cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t play dumb,” Kiara snaps, forcing herself to keep it together even as she recalls the absolute hell Sarah and her friends have put her through. “All the pranks, and the rumors, and the whole fucking hazing thing. It’s been _months_. Do you honestly have nothing better to do? Because that’s just sad.”

Gretchen’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry, sweetheart, but if you can’t take it, then maybe you should pack it up and go back to the Cut. That is where _rats_ belong, after all.”

Kiara curls her hands into fists at the taunt, wracks her brain for anything she can throw back in the girl’s face. Her parent’s divorce? Too soft. The nose job she got two years ago for _medical reasons_? Old news.

In the end, she lands on a piece of gossip she heard from Sarah, back when she used to tell Kiara everything. “At least my boyfriend didn’t cheat on me with one of my best friends. Wasn’t that you, Scarlett?”

Scarlett’s face goes bright red, and Gretchen’s stare turns murderous, but Kiara’s already turning her back on them and walking away, smiling to herself in satisfaction.

She thinks she’s in the clear, but then Gretchen calls after her. “Have fun whoring yourself out to those boys on the Cut, Kiara!”

_“What did you just say?”_

Kiara whirls around, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from smacking Gretchen in the face. 

It’s not like she hasn’t heard the rumors before, and she knows what people assume when they see a girl who’s best friends are all guys, but it’s different when the words are screamed at her in a crowded hallway. 

Gretchen just smirks, as if she can tell that she’s struck a nerve. “Oh, don’t act so shocked. I don’t know what kind of freaky shit y’all get up to out there. But I mean... it can’t be _that_ bad— you had to convince them to take you back somehow, right?”

Kiara’s face is burning, which she hates but can’t help, because even though _she_ knows it’s not true, there’s still that part of her that wonders if her newly-defined curves and boobs are one of the reasons the Pogues forgave her so quickly.

She tries to speak, to defend herself, but the words get caught in her throat.

Still, Gretchen’s not done. “You know I’m curious. Just between us girls... who’s the best? Because personally I’ve heard that JJ is quite a good fuck—”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish, because something snaps in her at the sound of JJ’s name on Gretchen’s lips, and she slaps her across the face.

The sound echoes in the suddenly silent hallway. Kiara reels backwards, ignores the stinging in her palm as she watches Gretchen raise a trembling hand to her cheek.

“You _bitch_ ,” she hisses, tears pooling in her eyes, and Kiara doesn’t even see the hit coming before pain flares in her cheek.

She glimpses the blood on one of Gretchen’s rings, faintly recognizes that it’s her own, and then she lunges forward, ready to show the girl what a real fight on the Cut looks like.

It’s not her proudest moment— she only gets one hit in before someone’s arms are around her waist, and it goes against every feministic tendency in her body to be involved in something that even remotely resembles a cat fight, but it’s all worth when she sees Gretchen’s bloody nose and bruised cheek.

It’s less worth it later, when Kiara’s sitting in the principals office and being informed of her week-long suspension from school. Gretchen got off with a warning, because of course she did. If it wasn’t for the visible evidence of her hitting first on Kiara’s face, she probably wouldn’t be getting punished at all.

She doesn’t even bother trying to argue, because she knows her parents will be pissed enough as is.

Her mother’s at some social event on the mainland though, and her dad turns his cellphone off when he’s at work, so Kiara has at least a few hours before they figure out what happened and ground her for life.

So, she grabs her bike and heads towards the Chateau. 

It’s early enough in the day that she automatically assumes the boys are still at school, so Kiara doesn’t even text them to say she’s coming over. Now that Big John is missing, the Chateau will be empty, so she figures it will be easy to sneak in and fix herself up before any of them notice something’s wrong.

But what she doesn’t count on is the boy lounging in the hammock when she arrives, a joint between his fingers and his blonde hair glowing in the sunlight coming through the trees.

It’s her fault, really. Because the odds of JJ showing up at school are shaky at best, and according to Pope, they’ve gone down ever since she’d started at the Kook Academy. 

Kiara tries to sneak by, she does, but that’s kind of impossible when it comes to JJ, whose senses are seemingly jacked up to eleven at all times, and it only takes the sound of her shoes against the gravel for him to whip his head around and notice her. 

“Kie?” He asks, frowning as he heaves himself out of the hammock. “What are you doing here?”

A million excuses are already forming in Kiara’s head, because really, JJ is the last person she wants to talk to right now. Ever since the night of Sarah’s party, he’s been a little _too_ perceptive. Like he knows she hasn’t been entirely honest about how the Kooks treat her. 

It’s no use, though, because JJ takes one look at her disheveled state and the cut on her cheek and says, _“Who?”_

His gaze is hard, and Kiara doesn’t like it, because she _knows_ what happens when JJ gets like this. He’s the walking, talking definition of loyal to a fault, and while she loves him for it, now really isn’t the time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she mutters, brushing past him and heading towards the door, hoping that he’ll have the sense to leave it.

But this is JJ, so of course he doesn’t. “Uh, no, it does matter. Who did that to you?”

He catches her by the wrist, spins her around to face him, his hand going to the cut on her cheek. Kiara winces when his fingers touch her skin, but then he pulls them back, and they’re covered in blood. 

“Kie, you’re _bleeding_ ,” he hisses, his gaze burning as he stares at the blood on his fingertips. Kiara hadn’t even noticed it until now, but she remembers the rings on Gretchen’s hands, and okay, her cheek is hurting a little more than before now that her adrenaline is starting to fade. 

“It was an accident. I fell off my bike—”

She doesn’t even bother finishing the lie, because JJ’s expression tells her there’s no way he’s buying it. “Cut the bullshit, Kie. I know what kind of damage a punch to the face does. I’m not asking again— who _fucking_ hit you?” 

Kiara finally relents, because she can tell JJ’s not budging on this. He always gets like this when one of the Pogues are hurt, but there’s something a little more... personal when it’s her. And normally, she would resent the fact that it was just because she was a girl, but she’d heard enough from John B about JJ’s mom to know that this wasn’t something to fight him on.

“It’s just some girls at school,” she says, shrugging it off like it doesn’t matter, because the last thing she wants is for JJ to get in trouble over her. And knowing him, that’s exactly what will happen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His entire body is tense— six feet of coiled muscle and clenched fists. It’s ridiculous, but Kiara can’t deny the fact that puberty hit JJ just as hard as it did her, and ever since she’d returned from her Kook Year, there’d been moments where she’d caught herself... looking. At him. Like that.

And it shouldn’t be hot— how his eyes are burning and he’s biting his lip and every ounce of him is clearly dying to let loose and hit something— but Kiara can’t help it, okay? She’s a teenager— out of control hormones kind of come with the territory. 

JJ still hasn’t said anything, but then he sighs, some of the tension leaving his body as he turns to her and says, “‘Cmon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He heads inside, and Kiara hesitates before following, watches as he rummages through the cupboards for the first aid kit she’d purchased and then _accidentally_ forgotten at the Chateau. She’d bought another one for her car too, and one for the van, because somehow John B and JJ kept finding new ways to injure themselves. 

It’s a little strange, having him be the one to fix her up after a fight, since it’s normally the other way around. She sits on the kitchen counter so that JJ can stand between her legs, and when she feels goosebumps rise on her arms as he cleans her cheek, she tells herself it’s because the pressure makes her cut sting, not because of their close proximity. And for gods sake, would it kill JJ to wear a shirt that didn’t leave his entire chest exposed? 

It doesn’t take long, even though Kiara makes sure to give him a hard time over the antiseptic because JJ always whines about it burning when she puts it on him. He tells her to stop being a baby, presses a Batman bandaid to her cheek and ruffles her hair when he’s done.

They end up back in the hammock after that, legs touching and JJ’s fingers tracing absent-minded circles on Kiara’s ankle as they pass a joint back and forth. 

Soon enough, she’s giggling at JJ’s attempts to blow smoke out of his nose, her skin tingling and chest lighter than it’s been in weeks. 

But of course it’s a trap, because once Kiara’s on her seventh hit, JJ opens his mouth and says, “So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

It should piss her off more, she thinks, that JJ knows exactly how to get her to spill her guts— weed and low-pressure situations. But honestly, Kiara does want to tell someone about it, and he’s looking at her with this open, earnest expression, eyes glazed and his movements a little looser than usual.

It’s enough for her, and just like that it all comes spilling out: the months of teasing from the kids at the Kook Academy, the cruel taunts whispered in the hallway, the pranks they’d pulled. And how despite everything, all it did was make Kiara feel utterly _pathetic_.

JJ stays quiet as she talks, doesn’t interrupt once, even though she can tell he has a few things to say based on his puckered lips and tight jaw. This is pissing him off, but he’s holding it together for her sake.

It’s when she gets to the story about the rats that Kiara breaks, stares out at that marsh to try and hide the fact that she’s crying as she describes the shame she’d felt when everyone started laughing at her. 

But JJ notices, because of course he does, and then he’s shifting so that they’re both facing the same direction, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

Kiara doesn’t fight it, let’s herself go loose and pliant against him, buries her head in JJ’s shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent of salt and axe body spray and the cheap cologne he and John B take turns stealing from each other. 

Once she’s finished, Kiara feels more drained than anything, takes a final weak draw from the joint before JJ tugs it from her hand and throws it into the dirt. She doesn’t even yell at him for littering— that’s how tired she is.

“You know you’re worth more than any of them, right?” JJ asks, tilting his head down to look at her. “Like I know you’re a total badass, and you probably don’t need to hear it, but you’re... you’re fucking amazing, Kie.“

“Oh, really, Maybank?” Kiara says, mostly to hide the fact that she’s blushing and there may or may not be tears in her eyes. “Tell me more.” 

She means it as a joke, a way to lighten the mood, but JJ’s expression is dead serious. “Listen, I know we don’t really say shit like this, okay? But Kie... fuck, I just want you to know that you deserve better than all that bullshit. Because you’re wicked smart, and you make the best fish tacos, and you can fix a motorbike engine and surf almost as well as me and you just _care_ so much about everything. It’s crazy, like I don’t even know how you do it. I just... I want you to know that there are people who care about you, too.”

Kiara’s definitely crying now, but JJ is too, and she thinks she knows what this is about— the conversation she’d had with him months ago, after he’d seen the scars on her wrists that were normally hidden by her bracelets.

She’d explained that she’d been in a bad place, that she was better now, with him and the Pogues, but JJ had made her promise that if she ever felt the need to do something like that again, she’d call him. And if she didn’t, he’d tell her parents.

He has that same look on his face now as he did then, eyes damp and a determined furrow to his brows, like convincing Kiara that she _matters_ is the most important thing he’s ever done.

_And god, the timing is shit, but she really wants to kiss him._

Kiara’s still a little buzzed from the weed— it might be a problem, she thinks, that the urge to kiss JJ is strongest whenever she’s intoxicated— but even she knows that isn’t the reason behind the thought that’s entered her brain and just won’t _leave_.

It’s because of ridiculous shit like this— JJ being all emotional and listening to her talk for hours and letting her ruin his shirt with her tears.

It’s almost painful to press her lips to his cheek instead of his mouth, but Kiara does it anyway. Because she’s not stupid, and if today has proved anything, it’s that she doesn’t want to lose him. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, her lips still inches away from his, their close proximity breath making it hard to think. “For—just thank you.”

But JJ’s apparently reached his emotional quota for the day, because he pokes her in the side and leans his head back against the hammock, shrugging Kiara’s words off as he procures another joint and lighter from his pocket. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah I know, I’m amazing. You don’t have to tell me twice, Kie.”

Kiara scoffs, rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t move away from him, and JJ doesn’t give any indication that he wants her to.

A few moments later, he speaks the words into her hair, a smirk already on his lips. “Did I mention you look really hot in your uniform?”

She whacks him in the chest for that one, tries to wriggle out of the hammock, but JJ’s arm locks tighter around her and she doesn’t have the energy to fight him off.

It’s far too easy to stay with her head lying against his chest, listening to JJ as he bitches about his shift at work and starts some weed-fueled debate about what the cloud above them is shaped like.

Kiara decides she wouldn’t mind if it was always like this— getting high and lounging in the hammocks at the Chateau until the sky gets dark, then falling asleep on the pullout and doing it all over again the next day. 

And she thinks that she wouldn’t mind never kissing JJ either, as long as she gets to have him like this.

✘✘✘ 

_five._

Here’s the first problem: Kiara’s wish for her life to be as normal and boring as possible seems to have seriously backfired. 

Because the summer after their sophomore year of high school, the Pogues are thrust into a treasure hunt that involves boat chases and hiding in chicken coops to avoid having their heads blown off by square groupers, encounters with drug dealers with wicked vendettas and psychotic fire-poker wielding old ladies.

It honestly could be considered a good thing in some regards, because for a brief amount of time, Kiara’s _other_ problem is the furthest thing from her mind.

The problem being that despite her decision that being friends with JJ was better than potentially being something _more_ and fucking everything up between them, Kiara still thinks about kissing him a little too often for her liking.

It happens when he leans a little too close or gets a little too handsy when they’re dancing on the HMS or at Wreck, and she thinks about kissing him instead of smacking him in the head, just to see how he’d react.

It’s after a long day of surfing, when JJ was soaked to the bone but grinning like a maniac, eyes bright and his wet, tousled hair glistening in the sunlight, the most relaxed Kiara’s ever seen him. 

Or at the Boneyard after a few too many drinks, though Kiara has learned to avoid direct contact with JJ for the most part when she’s intoxicated. After all, her track record is kind of shit.

It doesn’t help that all three boys now spend the majority of their time without shirts on, and Kiara had to quickly adjust to the prominent new presence of abs and muscles she was surrounded by on the daily. 

Just to be clear, it wasn’t like she was some horny teenager who couldn’t keep herself in check. For the most part, she acted entirely normal around JJ, and none of the other Pogues had mentioned anything, so she figured she wasn’t _too_ obvious about it. 

And honestly, JJ tended to be a complete dumbass most of the time, so it was easy to roll her eyes at his exaggerated stories or shoot him a dirty look when he made an inappropriate comment, just to remind herself that he was an idiotic teenage boy whose thoughts mostly revolved around booze, girls, and surfing— nothing special.

Of course, she knew that was really just a defense mechanism— like for when he’d bring another girl back to the Chateau, and she was reminded that okay, yeah, it stung a _little_.

It wasn’t like Kiara didn’t have flings of her own. She did, and some of them weren’t half bad, but it was mostly clueless Tourons who were on vacation with their families, or boys from school that got jealous as soon as they realized she’d always put the Pogues before everything else, including having a boyfriend. 

It’s that undying loyalty that gets them into trouble, because when John B finds the compass and whispers the words _this was my father’s_ a little too reverently for Kiara’s liking, none of them have the sense to throw the damn thing back in the ocean where it belongs.

It’s all kind of a blur after that— Kiara learns that getting shot at is a lot scarier and less exciting than it is in the movies, and that JJ should never be given access to an active firearm.

(She could have told everyone _that_ before all this, if they’d asked.)

She also learns that John B likes her— like _likes her_ , likes her— and that his lips are dry and chapped and he uses too much tongue when he kisses. 

Don’t get her wrong, the kiss isn’t awful, it just... isn’t what she wants. But John B is so apologetic and mortified about the whole thing that she decides to let it go, doesn’t even bother teasing him about it. 

It’s stupid, to ask him if he told JJ.

He asks her why she wants to know, and Kiara repeats the question in her head, because why _does_ she want to know? 

Maybe it’s because she wants to know what kind of damage control she has to do, just to keep all the Pogues together, to prevent anyone from getting hurt.

Maybe it’s because thinking about kissing JJ has kind of been a _thing_ for her. She’s thought about kissing all the boys at one point or another, of course, because she’s a girl and around them almost twenty-four seven, and despite her refusal to comply with gender norms, there’s no denying they’re all handsome as hell, but she just thought about JJ a little bit... more.

And maybe, as fucked up as it is, she wants to know if JJ has ever thought about kissing _her_ , if he’d been pissed off when he heard about her macking on John B. 

But JJ never mentions it, and neither does Pope, so Kiara thinks she’s in the clear.

Then, shit kind of hits the fan, and she’s too worried about getting arrested or beat up by Rafe and Topper to think about kissing _anyone_.

Even when JJ calls her name and she throws herself into his arms at Midsummers, and Kiara can’t help but think that this is the kind of moment where the girl kisses the guy in the movies— after he’s narrowly escaped from danger and they’re running off into the sunset together.

But happily ever afters aren’t really their thing, because finding the gold  
somehow makes everything worse, and then JJ’s walking away from all of them after stealing money from a drug dealer, and Kiara doesn’t even have it in her to try and get him to stay.

And she’s pissed, of course she is, because he abandoned them when they needed him the most. 

(Later, she decides that it’s the other way around, and that letting JJ leave with that money was the worst decision she could have possibly made.)

Because the next time she sees him, he’s sobbing in her arms in a hot tub, his face buried in her neck and his hands shaking as he tries to hold onto her, struggling to breathe past the pain in his ribs.

Kiara does kiss JJ that night— on his nose, his cheeks, the bruise on his shoulder. It’s after she’s done cleaning him up to the best of her ability, when Pope is passed out on the pullout and JJ’s leaning against the bathroom counter just to keep himself upright. 

His skin tastes like chlorine, and he shudders at the contact, but when Kiara meets his gaze to silently ask if it’s okay, he just blinks and curls into the touch.

They fall asleep in the same bed afterward, because JJ is still trembling when she helps him into a clean change of clothes, and leaving him alone is the last thing Kiara wants to do.

It’s a little later, when they’re standing on that dock after saying goodbye to John B, when her chest feels raw and empty and all she wants is for things to be _normal_ again, when Kiara kisses Pope.

It’s the one time where she doesn’t even think about doing it to JJ, even though he’s only a few feet away, because him staying by her side through everything has magnified all of the feelings Kiara has desperately tried to keep buried, and she doesn’t have the emotional capacity to unravel all of _that_. 

Kissing Pope is easier, simpler, even though she’s not quite sure if she sees him as more than a friend, even if in the back of her mind the words _I want something different_ keep resurfacing— along with glimpses of tousled blond curls and days spent surfing at Rixon’s, nights dancing at the Boneyard, the reassuring smile JJ had given her when she’d been crying on the dock after her fight with Pope, the arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders.

But _something different_ feels a little too dangerous at the moment, so Kiara just smiles against Pope’s lips and tells herself that this is fine, this is what she should be doing. Keeping the Pogues together— like she always has. 

(If she’d turned around, she might have seen the pained expression on JJ’s face, how he’d staggered back a step when she’d pressed her lips to Pope’s. 

But she didn’t, and JJ doesn’t say anything, because if Kiara and Pope are both happy he has no right to be jealous of _anything_.

He just wants the Pogues to stay together, knows Kiara wants that too. And her and Pope... it makes sense.

Even if JJ can’t help but wish he was the one kissing Kiara instead.)

✘✘✘ 

_+1._

After everything, Kiara realizes that she’s been really, _really_ stupid when it comes to JJ.

They’re lying in the hammock at the Chateau, her head on JJ’s chest and his fingers in her hair, and it’s just like a thousand other days but it _feels_ different.

Because Kiara can hear the Pogues laughing inside, Pope commenting on John B’s ability to shotgun a beer, her friend’s half-hearted protests and Sarah giggling semi-obnoxiously like she always does when she’s tipsy.

It used to bother her a little, grate on her nerves, but now Kiara would give anything to have a thousand moments like this— listening to her friends being happy and carefree and acting freaking _normal_ , because for so long they hadn’t had the chance to do that.

It’s cheesy as fuck, the kind of emotional bullshit JJ tends to scoff at, but Kiara doesn’t care.

It took a long time to get here— to beers and ghost stories by the fire and movie nights cuddled together on the pullout, to not having to worry about her and her friends getting shot at or murdered by vengeful fathers and creepy drug dealers.

It’s a part of their lives that won’t ever go away, she knows that. Because John B gets nightmares and Sarah still won’t go out on the boat if she can help it. Pope jumps at loud noises and JJ goes back to his dad’s far too often for Kiara’s liking, even though he’s gotten better at telling her after he does, letting her talk him down instead of picking a fight with the nearest Kook.

Kiara has her own issues— storms make her nervous, and she freaks out when one of the Pogues don’t answer their cell phones right away.

But mostly, she’s just happy, because John B and Sarah are _alive_ , and they’re all together again. 

JJ stirs beneath her, readjusts his hat on his head and mumbles out an apology, presses a kiss to her hair, probably assuming that he’d woken her up. 

It’s the practiced ease of the action, the strange intimacy, that makes Kiara’s breath catch. 

Things between her and JJ have been like that for a while now— easy, comfortable. After John B and Sarah had disappeared, back when they’d still thought they were dead, they’d been the only thing keeping each other from crumbling completely.

Kiara cried a lot, more than she ever had before, distracted herself with extra shifts at the Wreck and forcing JJ to get out of the house— when he didn’t he drank too much and had new bruises whenever she returned to the Chateau, more likely from getting into a pissing contest with the Kooks than his father, because when he’d gone back home after stealing the Phantom, his dad beat him so badly that he couldn’t get off the pullout couch for a week, and Kiara cried even more than usual, made him promise not to do it again.

They’d gotten through it together, though, and these days Kiara’s heart is so full it feels like it’s about to burst, but is still feels as if something is missing sometimes, and she thinks she knows what that is now.

So, in one fluid movement, she tilts her head up and presses her lips to JJ’s, slides her fingers through his hair when he makes a muffled sound of surprise to shut him up. 

Because kissing JJ is even better than she’d imagined, and Kiara’s done _a lot_ of imagining. 

His lips taste like salt and smoke, which should be off-putting but isn’t, and they’re simultaneously soft and firm against hers. 

It’s good, _better_ than good, in fact it feels like someone’s ignited a fire in her chest, so when JJ pulls back Kiara whimpers and chases his lips with hers.

“Woah, Kie, hold up,” he says, and she freezes, because _oh, fuck, what if she totally misread this?_

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she gasps, shifting away from JJ, desperate to avoid any skin-to-skin contact. “I’ve just wanted to do that for a really long time, but you obviously don’t want— fuck, JJ, I’m so sorry—”

Her frantic apology is cut short by JJ kissing _her_ this time, an arm wrapping around her waist to pull her down onto his chest, his other hand cupping her face so gently it makes her brain momentarily short-circuit. 

And it’s great, but now Kiara’s _really_ confused. 

It’s almost impossible to do, especially when JJ is barely giving her a chance to breathe, but then she’s the one pulling away.

“Why are you stopping?” JJ asks with heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze not leaving her lips.

“Uh, it’s just... you’re kind of giving me mixed signals here, J,” Kiara says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and trying to sound like she isn’t totally freaking out right now.

JJ raises his eyebrows, and then chuckles like he can’t believe she’s being serious. “ _I’m_ giving you mixed signals? You’ve spent the past seven years shooting me down every chance you—”

“I didn’t _shoot you down_ —”

Kiara stops trying to argue when JJ smirks at her, as if he’d known exactly what she was going to say. She glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. 

“Okay, fine, truce,” JJ says, giving her his best wounded puppy-dog impression. “Can we start kissing again?”

“Shouldn’t we... talk about this?” Kiara asks, forcing herself to be semi-rational, even though a large part of her wants to just say _fuck it_ and give into JJ’s request.

“What’s there to talk about?” He answers, sounding genuinely confused. “You like kissing me, I like kissing you—”

Kiara smacks him in the shoulder, follows it with her _JJ, I’m being serious_ look. 

He just laughs, wraps his arms around her waist and flips them so he’s on top, braced above her and grinning from ear to ear. The sun catches on the back of his head, turning his hair a fiery shade of gold, and Kiara has to tell herself that this isn’t the time to run her fingers through it— even though he would probably let her. 

“I’m just kidding, Kie,” JJ says, but then his mouth is on hers again, and Kiara doesn’t think he got the message. 

“JJ—” she starts, breaking off when his lips move down to her neck, sucking at that spot below her ear that always makes her go crazy. 

“Start talking,” he prompts, still working his way down her collarbone, as if he isn’t being entirely distracting and making it impossible for her to form full sentences. 

“JJ,” she says again, this time with more conviction in her voice. This is escalating rather quickly, at least on her end, and she wants to make they’re both on the same page. Because she can’t do the one-night stand thing, she _really_ can’t, not with him. 

JJ hums, lifts his head briefly to look at her. His eyes are filled with enough heat to make Kiara’s toes curl, and she can’t even hide the shiver that works it’s way down her spine. 

_Fuck, she really needs to get a grip._

“Yes, babe?” He asks, his tone far too casual considering the things he was just doing to her with his mouth. 

“I just think we should discuss— fuck, JJ, I’m being serious—”

He’d gone for her lips again, because apparently JJ has a hard time controlling himself when he’s like this, which she _knew_. It’s just a lot harder to wrap her head around when he’s right _there_ , eyes burning with barely concealed lust and clearly wanting more— more of _her_. 

But JJ must detect the shift in Kiara’s voice, because he does stop this time, leans backward so he’s sitting on her hips, runs a hand through his hair and sighs like it’s physically painful to move away from her. 

Okay, well, if the tent in his cargo shorts is any indication, it probably is, and _fuck Kie, why did you even go there—_

When JJ starts talking, she has to remind herself to listen instead of thinking about how he’s literally straddling her. 

“Look, Kie...” he trails off, hesitating, and the pit in Kiara’s stomach returns as she wonders if this is the part where he lets her down easy— gives her the _we’re better off as friends_ speech.

“Look, Kie, you’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is for this to ruin things between us,” he says, and she thinks _here we go_ , but JJ doesn’t stop there. “But if I’m reading this right— which I’m probably not, knowing me— you want this, _us_ , and so do I. I mean, fuck, I always have. I just never thought...”

Kiara raises a hand to his face at the choked quality to JJ’s voice, brushes her thumb over the side of his jaw, silently urging him to continue. Her heart is pounding in her chest, but she forces herself to stay quiet, to let JJ finish. 

“I never thought you’d want me back,” he admits, his head falling forward, like he’s ashamed to meet her gaze. “And I know the past few years have been hell, so I don’t want you to feel _obligated_ to me or anything, like you’re stuck here or something. Because let’s be honest, Kie, I’m kind of a fuck-up—”

Kiara decides she’s heard enough right then and there, takes JJ’s face in her hands and pulls him back down until they’re only inches away from each other and breathing the same air, doesn’t let him break eye contact with her as she says, “JJ, listen to me, you’re the furthest thing from a fuck-up imaginable. And you did read it right— I want this, okay? I want _you_. I have for a while.”

That’s apparently exactly what JJ needed to hear, because he surges forward and kisses her, and she pretends not to notice the tears dripping onto her cheeks, the shaky exhale he lets out when they pull back to take a breath.

It’s in that moment that Kiara feels so incredibly stupid for not doing this sooner— kissing JJ, asking if he wanted to be more than just friends. It’s like a final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, it feels _right_ , and in her heart she knows that she’ll never get tired of having him like this.

Because now that Kiara can kiss JJ whenever she wants, she sure as hell is going to make the most of it. 


End file.
